


Fifty Shades of Black

by epithalamium



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Erotica, M/M, Parody, University
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epithalamium/pseuds/epithalamium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Remus Lupin goes to interview young entrepreneur Sirius Black, he encounters a man who is beautiful, distant, and intimidating. The world-weary, foul-mouthed Remus is dismayed to realise he wants this man and, despite Black's enigmatic reserve, Remus finds he is desperate to get close to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Fifty Shades of Black 1/?  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, James Potter, mentions of Dumbledore, Xenophilius Lovegood, Mundungus Fletcher  
>  **Rating:** R for language  
>  **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and all related characters is to JK Rowling and associates. Fifty Shades of Grey and all related characters is to EL James.  
>  **Summary:** When Remus Lupin goes to interview young entrepreneur Sirius Black, he encounters a man who is beautiful, distant, and intimidating. The world-weary, foul-mouthed Remus is dismayed to realise he wants this man and, despite Black's enigmatic reserve, Remus finds he is desperate to get close to him.  
>  **Word count:** 2,500~  
>  **Notes/Warnings:** As you can see from the title and the summary, this is a parody of EL James's _Fifty Shades of Grey_. Please don't take it seriously. Rated for language. Ratings will probably escalate with each new chapter

My hair’s a right mess and there were shadows around my eyes from recent nights spent slaving over my paper on Hesse’s _Demian_. Not good. I fished about the various beautifying implements James had left scattered around the loo and came up with a comb. No use trying to tame the curls. I reckon big, messy hair’s the mode these days, anyway, judging from what I’ve seen of young men in the telly. No wonder James was having a fine time of it lately. If Divine Intervention ever despaired of anything, it would despair of James’s hair.

‘Are you trying to shave in there, Lupin?’

Speak of the Devil. 

‘Because we’ve already had the talk about Wishful Thinking, remember?’

‘Fuck off, Potter. You’re the one who shaves his legs every week.’ I left James’s comb on the basin and took one last look at my reflection. Red veins on my eyes like invading Martians. Clean-shaven--fuck James for being right--face that has gone the colour of dead shrimp from lack of sunlight. Looked like a mask left over from Hallowe’en. Surely charm the pants off the mysterious Mr Black.

‘Can’t help it, it itches,’ James muttered. He was leaning on the bathroom door behind me. Probably trying to make sure I hadn’t slit my veins in here yet, although why I’d want anything that’s touched his legs anywhere near my veins--fuck that. The mere thought made me want to heave. ‘Stop fidgeting. You look fine. You look lovely.’

It wasn’t much, coming from someone who sported a Rudolf nose that dripped snot everywhere, but it still helped. I breathed out. ‘You owe me, Potter.’

‘Don’t I fucking know it,’ James said, with liberal pauses in order to blow his nose on a tissue. ‘I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t sick, you know.’

‘I made Kill or Cure soup. Relax. I already agreed to do it, yeah?’ I resisted the urge to check on my appearance yet again. At least I was wearing my one good tweed suit. Bow tie and all. Maybe get lucky and trigger Mr Black’s unexplored Whovian kinks. 

‘It would mean a lot for the _Quibbler_. Black seldom allows interviews, and this is our only chance.’ 

Have to give it to James; his dedication to that rubbish paper knew no bounds. Even if the _Quibbler_ was usually only good for lining budgerigar cages.

‘I know. You told me a million times already.’ I checked my pockets for the list of questions James had given me. I’d be recording Mr Black’s answers through my mobile. Maybe even take a few photos if he’d allow it. I’ve never done this sort of shit before, but I can always dazzle him with my thoughts on Hesse if things get too awkward and boring. Who knows, Black might even say something worth using in _my_ paper.

*

Black’s offices were smack in the middle of Knockturn Alley, not far from Borgin and Burkes where I work. Never had the reason to visit before, but at least this was familiar ground. Hard to miss Black’s place, seeing as how it was the only building with a plaque on it.

BLACK

_Toujours Pur_

Always pure. What the bloody fuck did that even mean. Regency style building. Well-kept. His family must have had it for yonks.

Beefy man that smelled of tobacco escorted me to His Mysteriousness’s office. Door left plain, nothing to mark it from the rest of the rooms. Wondered if that said something about Black. And if it did, what? Paranoia, maybe? Need for anonymity even in his own offices? If he turns out to be some raving madman who collects bollocks to hang on his walls, I vowed that my soon-to-be sacrificed manhood will haunt James for the rest of his days.

‘Mr Potter?’ Nice voice. Like black chocolate and shards of glass. Almost sexy. Scratch that. _Very_ sexy. He was probably older than my father, though, so what was even the point.

I gave my bow tie a tug before entering the room. ‘Actually, Mr Potter couldn’t make it.’ Stuck in bed with flu and his Yoda print pyjamas, actually, but Black didn’t need to know that. ‘He asked me to take over for him.’

‘And you would be?’ Mr Black asked, standing up from behind his desk.

Fuck, the man was _beautiful_. There was no other word for it. ‘Fit’ can’t even begin to do him justice. I put a hand to my chin to make sure I wasn’t drooling. Hands off, Lupin, I told myself. This bloke was easily twenty thousand times out of my league. Couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than I was, at the very most. But might as well be from Gallifrey, for all the similarities between us. 

I realised he was waiting for my answer, so I managed to stammer out my name, ‘Remus Lupin. Nice meeting you, Mr Black.’

He looked at me through ridiculously long eyelashes. He was a study in black and white, like the rest of his office: black suit, black hair, Snow White complexion. Faintest tinge of pink on his lips. Wondered what they’d look like, kiss-bruised and reddened from my teeth. Had to bite on my own lip to keep from moaning. Someone needs to stop spending too much time with Hesse and get laid.

‘If you would excuse me, Mr Lupin, I don’t have much time on my hands,’ he said. ‘So if we could begin the interview now--’ His voice trailed off and he looked distracted for a moment before remembering himself. He nodded at one of the chairs in front of his desk. ‘Please sit down.’

We both did. Chair comfortable enough. But then Black didn’t need his furniture to unnerve people. One needed only to look at him and wonder if he was somehow computer generated. 

‘Why did you agree to do this interview?’ That wasn’t one of James’s questions, but it was hard to imagine this man ever agreeing to grace the _Quibbler_ ’s covers with his face. That alone would have been worth the price of the paper all told.

‘Mr Potter works for the Phoenix.’ That was one of Dumbledore’s causes; a second chance to those with impoverished pasts, in both the literal and metaphorical senses. ‘We’ve met. He’s very persistent.’

I could have spent the rest of the afternoon telling him how persistent James can be, but the bit about the Phoenix surprised me. ‘You go to meetings? I’ve never seen you.’

‘I attend meetings when I can, but never as much as I want to,’ Black smiled at me. He looks like he’s forgotten which muscles should have moved, but whatever he chooses to do with his face is fine by me. I smiled back at him to show him how it’s usually done.

‘Sorry,’ I said, taking my mobile phone out of my coat pocket and holding it between us. ‘Do you mind if I make a recording of this session? James insisted on it.’

‘Not at all.’ He gestured at the polished wooden surface of his desk, where I carefully placed my mobile. Didn’t want to leave scratches or anything. 

‘Shall we begin?’ I’ve already pulled out James’s list. Didn’t have the time to look at it properly before. I wish I did. Wish I did some research on the bloke before coming here. Never liked being unprepared for anything. Most uncharacteristic of me. But I don’t usually have _Demian_ chewing relentlessly on my time like an existential cow. ‘How does it feel to be the head of the company at such a young age?’ 

‘I was born to it.’ Despite the sexiness of his voice, his tone was distressingly flat. As if he’s a particularly bad actor reading from a script. ‘I don’t think there was ever a time in my life that I didn’t know I’d inherit Black Holdings when I’m old enough. Although that didn’t mean I can sit back and relax, wait for it to land on my lap like a ripe apple. There were expectations to live up to.’

‘And you did,’ I put in. 

‘Still am,’ he said. Couldn’t detect any pride in him. But there was satisfaction. I have to give him that, seeing as how he’s the fucking multi-millionaire in the room. 

‘Yours is not exactly an inspirational story.’ Don’t know what made me say that, but he didn’t look pissed off. Not that I could see, anyway.

‘No.’

‘Was there ever a time you thought of rebellion; fighting against those expectations?’ I decided to follow only the vaguest outlines of James’s list, treating it more as a guide and not as a restriction. Didn’t think he’d mind. Also, I wanted to know. Surely no one can be this bloody successful if one always kept toeing the line? What happened to all that talk about innovative world leaders and shit?

His pale eyes met mine. ‘There are lines that one cannot cross without consequences, Mr Lupin,’ he said, as if he could read my fucking mind or something. ‘And maybe I can live with those consequences. Certainly my family will have no choice but to deal with them. But I don’t answer only for myself. Hundreds of Londoners alone work for me, in one way or another. Do you realise what it would mean for them if I chose selfishly, for petty reasons?’

‘But surely you have to take risks sometimes.’ Wasn’t sure anymore what we were actually talking about. Forget being on the same page. I’m not even sure it was the same book we’re on.

‘Calculated risks, of course,’ he nodded. ‘But no more than that.’

‘Can you imagine yourself doing something else? Do you have any hobbies?’

‘I like to read,’ he said, a corner of his lips twitching. It was probably the most natural thing I’ve seen him do since we started talking. ‘And I do enjoy a good opera. I don’t usually mix business with pleasure, Mr Lupin.’

No fucking shit. ‘Are you in a relationship right now?’ That was one of James’s questions, but I wouldn’t mind knowing myself.

‘No.’

‘Gay?’ I swear to god and all the angels in heaven that James had written that down and I wasn’t pulling things out of my arse. Not this time, anyway. Eyed Black warily to see how he was going to react. Bloke didn’t _feel_ gay to me; he didn’t have the right body language. Of course, might also be the fact that I’m the last person he’d be attracted to, even if he were. Thing is, he didn’t give off any sign that he was even aware that such a thing as sex even existed. Unusual, for a man with a face like that.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve never tried.’

That surprised me into laughing. ‘Call me if you ever feel the need for some experimenting.’

Can you kill me now.

‘A joke, Mr Lupin?’ His tone remained uninterested.

‘If you like.’

‘You can leave your mobile phone number with Mr Fletcher outside,’ his eyes sought mine, caught mine, held mine. ‘If you like.’

Well, fuck him.

*

James’s head peeked at me from the pile of pillows and quilts on the sofa. He was reading a Tolkien, which I highly doubt was required reading.

‘How did it go?’ he asked me, not even bothering to get up. Or put his book aside. Ungrateful wretch of a bastard.

‘Still alive, as you can see,’ I said, tossing him my mobile phone. ‘You could have warned me, Potter.’

‘Warn you?’ James’s Innocent Face, which has never been convincing in the best of times, looked especially faux at the moment. Bastard finally put Tolkien down to start fiddling with my mobile, refusing to meet my eyes.

‘You know fucking well what I mean,’ I said, pleasantly. 

‘Could’ve Googled him before you left, yeah?’ said James. ‘Could’ve asked around. Thing is, you can’t even be arsed to remember someone’s name unless that someone has written a book that made you come in your pants--’

‘Thing is,’ I said, ‘no one reads that shit of a paper you write for, anyway, so why bother doing research on the bloody bastard? You can always pull all the details out of your arse, yeah? Lovegood’s pretty fucking good at that.’

‘Don’t you fucking talk about Lovegood in that way,’ said James. It was a mark of how angry we were that we were almost talking in whispers. We were neither of us the sort who raised their voices in a fit of temper. ‘He might be the craziest thing since curly fries, but he cares about the truth. And he cares about freedom of speech.’

‘Why didn’t you bother briefing me about Sirius Black?’ I asked, because I didn’t fancy spending the rest of the night talking about James’s editor in chief. 

James kept silent for almost a minute, one finger tapping against the back of my mobile phone, eyes darting from side to side as he considered what to say. James can be brutally frank if he was in a mood, but you have to give it to him: he always chooses his words carefully. He finally met my eyes as he started speaking, ‘Because I feel like shit. Because you didn’t ask. I don’t know. I guess I’ve always known you’ve never taken the _Quibbler_ seriously, and I reckon it’d serve you right.’

I sighed, pushing his legs aside so I can sit on the sofa as well. The pounding in my head was a bloody telegram telling me to get completely wasted tonight. ‘’S there some beer left?’

‘There’s the bottle of Stolichnaya Dumbledore gave me for my birthday.’

I snorted. ‘He has enough inhibitions for ten Catholic schoolgirls.’

James laughed softly; he knew I wasn’t talking about Dumbledore. ‘Catholic schoolgirls can be pretty wild, but I get what you mean. Look, I’m all for an intimate discussion about our feelings, Lupin, but fetch us something to drink first, all right?’

‘Thought you were sick.’ The flat James and I shared wasn’t going to win any awards for cleanliness, but we knew enough to treat our liquor right. I found Dumbledore’s bottle of vodka in our special cupboard, right where it should be.

‘Not _that_ sick. Have a fucking heart, Remus.’ 

‘I fancy the pants out of him,’ I observed, after the first couple of shots.

‘I was expecting something of the sort.’ James raised his hands in a pacifying manner when I turned to glare at him. ‘I wasn’t baiting you. I know your type, is all. You’re not going to die of a broken heart though, are you?’

‘Probably not. I don’t recall him writing a book that made me come in my pants, so I’m probably safe.’ I grinned as James made a face, acknowledging the jab. 

‘For all we know, he has a taste for tweed boys who read Herman Hesse.’

‘Why did you make me ask him if he’s gay?’

‘He never brings dates to public events. People talk.’ James made a face again, looking down his glass as if surprised it was already empty. ‘But not enough. No rumours about any liaisons. Nothing. Either he’s being really discreet or the man’s one of those unfortunate creatures with no genitals. Not important to the _Quibbler_ , actually--unless he really doesn’t have a cock--but I thought you’d want to know.’

‘Don’t do me any fucking favours, Potter.’

‘Serves you right for not doing your homework.’

*


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Remus Lupin goes to interview young entrepreneur Sirius Black, he encounters a man who is beautiful, distant, and intimidating. The world-weary, foul-mouthed Remus is dismayed to realise he wants this man and, despite Black's enigmatic reserve, Remus finds he is desperate to get close to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Fifty Shades of Black 2/?  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, James Potter/Regulus Black, Mundungus Fletcher  
>  **Rating:** R for language  
>  **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and all related characters is to JK Rowling and associates. Fifty Shades of Grey and all related characters is to EL James.  
>  **Summary:** When Remus Lupin goes to interview young entrepreneur Sirius Black, he encounters a man who is beautiful, distant, and intimidating. The world-weary, foul-mouthed Remus is dismayed to realise he wants this man and, despite Black's enigmatic reserve, Remus finds he is desperate to get close to him.  
>  **Word count:** 2,600~  
>  **Notes/Warnings:** As you can see from the title and the summary, this is a parody of EL James's _Fifty Shades of Grey_. Please don't take it seriously. Rated for language. Ratings will probably escalate with each new chapter. Surprise James/Regulus in this chapter. In my defence, I had no idea Mr Grey had a brother, ok?

Tucked between a bookshop and an Indian restaurant were the spacious and ill-lit offices of Borgin and Burkes, purveyors of antiques and curios--the procuring of which sometimes remained within the bounds of law only by the thinnest strand of balding Mr Borgin’s hair, but one does not expect proper and upstanding citizens to hire yours truly to mind the shop. Not unless one lives in a lovely dimension where world peace is more than two random words strung together and bandied about during Christmas. 

Two unrelated people came in to buy lamps, a third one bought a doorknob shaped like a naked woman--no comment from this front--and that about qualifies as a busy Saturday afternoon. I’d brought my laptop along and managed to work on my paper in between customers. I was pretty fucking pleased with myself, to be honest. 

‘Mr Lupin?’ 

Rough voice, vaguely familiar although I can’t place it. Looked up from a particularly sticky paragraph about the symbolic (and Biblical?) triangle comprising Emil Sinclair, Max Demian, and Frau Eva to the square face of Beefy Man that Smelled of Tobacco.

‘Mr, er, Fletcher, wasn’t it?’ I said, extending one hand to him automatically. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Business, Mr Lupin.’ Was almost sure he was fighting down a smile as he looked down at my hand, brief pause as if wondering what to do with it. Was everyone from Black Holdings so fucking clueless about social interaction? 

‘Business?’ I repeated, stupidly.

‘Mr Black sent me.’ Fletcher’s synapses seemed to have kicked in time to make him shake my hand before my arm fell off and landed on the counter between us.

If I ever had any doubts regarding my attraction to Sirius Black, this was probably the moment they all vanished like shy nymphs before a satyr. I wanted the man, and the sooner we got this over with, the better so I can get back to writing my paper in peace. Untroubled by half-dreams of my hands, my lips, _my tongue_ exploring that stiff, inhibited body and watch multi-millionaire Always In Control Black get undone with desire.

He wanted me as well. Why else send his secretary here, aside from the obvious?

Factor the rest of my life in that equation and no one was probably surprised when Fletcher continued, ‘I was sent to pick up the tea set Mr Black bought from this shop last week.’

‘Oh,’ I said, emotion flaring sharp and hot in my chest before reason reminded me it was my fault for getting my hopes up in the first place. Smooth, Lupin. ‘Let me check the records first. I wasn’t informed about this particular sale, but Borgin’d forget he owned this shop if not for the bills and taxes, so I’m not really surprised.’ Knew I was babbling, but in a fit of self-pity couldn’t bring myself to give a fuck.

Got everything in order in about ten minutes. Handed Fletcher the carefully wrapped package of willow-patterned china as cold and pale as their new owner and manfully resisted the urge to do anything drastic. Such as hurl the whole thing at Fletcher’s face, maybe. It wasn’t the man’s fault he was ugly. And not his fault his bitch of a boss wasn’t interested. Handled the whole transaction pretty well, actually. But couldn’t resist calling Fletcher back as he was exiting the shop.

‘Give this to Mr Black,’ I said, handing him a slip of paper.

He looked at it with a puzzled expression that slowly gave way to a knowing smirk. ‘Shall I send him a message?’ 

I stared the smug piece of shit straight in the eye. ‘No, thank you.’

*

‘You mean to say,’ James said, ‘you gave your mobile number to his secretary?’

‘Don’t know what you’re acting so surprised about. It was Black’s idea, remember?’ I looked at James from the top of my book. ‘You missed a spot. Right near your ankle.’

‘Fuck.’ He twisted to raise one leg up, squinting at his foot like a near-sighted stork. ‘What do you think you’re doing, anyway, taking a shit while I’m having a shower? People might start getting the wrong idea about us.’

‘They already have all sorts of ideas about you, Mr Shaved Legs,’ I pointed out. ‘One more couldn’t possibly hurt.’

‘What about my chances of getting laid, yeah?’ Subtle sound of the razor against skin and then James’s yelp as he cut himself. Never saw the need to shave my legs myself, but Tonks--a former girlfriend--always called ankles the ‘danger zones’. Probably shared shaving tips with James back in the days, although she was a sight better at it than him, from what I remember of her legs. 

‘You’re doing fine fucking up your chances on your own,’ I said, laughing at the indignant expression on his face. ‘You don’t need my help for that.’

‘There’s a Phoenix meeting tonight, d’you want to come?’

‘What for?’

‘Well, for one I reckon you need a break from that paper, yeah? That Demian’s eating you alive.’ James raised one hand before I could open my mouth, which usually wouldn’t have stopped me except it was the one holding the razor. ‘And for another, there’s free drinks. Dumbledore’s holding a party afterwards.’

‘Well why didn’t you say so, Sweeney Todd?’ I finished my business and flushed the toilet. ‘All right, I’ll come with you.’

‘Who knows, you might even pull someone tonight, make you forget about Black,’ James said, because he’s the sort of bastard who needs to get the last word in.

‘I don’t think so, man,’ I said. ‘If anyone’s getting lucky tonight, I reckon it’s going to be you, with your newly shaved legs and all.’

I just managed to close the door behind me before the razor hit it with a thud.

*

I was well along the road to intoxication when my mobile rang. No guilty twinge from the conscience department, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t Mr Borgin calling about a misplaced item or our crazy bitch landlady asking about the rent. Number wasn’t familiar. Who the fuck?

Probably shouldn’t have been surprised, seeing as how I was giving people’s secretaries my mobile number and all earlier that afternoon. Might as well have made an account on online dating sites and posted a photo of one of my more attractive acquaintances to go along with it. Reeked of desperation. Regretted it now except all the tequila in my body told me I can worry about it later.

Didn’t exactly solve the mystery of Unknown Caller, though, so I finally answered by the seventh ring--although I couldn’t be sure, couldn’t count in a straight line anymore, ‘Yeah?’ 

‘Mr Lupin?’

Voice that was cold ice dropped down the pit of my stomach. I choked back hysterical laughter and tried to move to a quieter place. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, what with all the festive music and the dancing and all, but I finally managed to get to a corner currently occupied by a very busy couple. They didn’t even look up as I sidled close to the potted plant they were mostly hiding behind.

‘Yeah?’ Really, Mr Lupin. All that dashing wit and all you can come up with in the last few seconds is a couple of squeaky schoolgirl ‘yeah’s?

‘Mr Fletcher gave me your number.’

‘Did he,’ I said. ‘Are you up for some experimenting, then?’

‘You sound weird.’

‘I guess I would, seeing as how I’ve got half a bottle of tequila inside me.’ I giggled. Not my proudest moment, but it wasn’t like I was ruining my chances with Black--although that’s only because I didn’t have any to begin with. 

‘I hope you mean it metaphorically.’ He sounded amused. I decided it was very sexy.

‘Fucking myself with bottles of tequila isn’t my thing, Black.’ 

‘Thank god for that. I don’t think I can compare.’

I must be drunker than I thought. I shook my head, bringing my mobile closer to my face and frowning at it. ‘Come again?’

‘I haven’t come yet,’ he said, ‘Mr Lupin.’

Something about the deliberate way he said my name, Loo- _pin_ \--the accent almost French; seriously, as if he wasn’t sexy enough, are you fucking kidding me--made me go over our conversation again, re-playing it in my mind until something clicked, like a picked lock. 

‘You’re as drunk as I am, Black.’

‘Are you going to come over the club and rescue me from opportunistic perverts?’

‘So we can have a gratitude shag in your Spartan flat?’ I laughed, and I wasn’t exactly _more_ sober then, but I reckon I was less pissed than before this conversation happened. ‘This isn’t that sort of movie, yeah? Do you know what I think, Mr Black?’

‘No, Mr Lupin. Would you care to tell me?’

‘I think you’re going to regret this call in the morning--if you’ll even remember this call in the morning. And I think you should go home. It’s way past your bedtime.’ 

There was a rush of breath on his end, which could have been a laugh, although I don’t think I can imagine Black laughing. Even when he’s drunk.

Actually, I didn’t think he’s the sort who gets drunk. It doesn’t fit into the whole Control Freak image that he’s cultivated to perfection.

‘Are you still there, Black?’

‘I think Regulus put something in my drink,’ he said. Who the fuck was Regulus? ‘Turn around, Mr Lupin.’

I did. The couple behind me was immersed in the heat of the moment: nothing to see there. Eyes flicking towards the other end of the corner, and, ‘Oh.’

*

Ten minutes later and I found myself standing outside the club holding the keys to Sirius Black’s car in one hand and a box of condoms in the other. James was standing next to me, the White Rabbit in this Wonderland night in that he was the only familiar thing I knew, so I focused on him with all my drunken might. He was furious. His voice drowned out the music coming from inside the club, and he made my head hurt, but at that moment I could have kissed him.

‘You don’t fucking spike people’s drinks for the hell of it!’ he was saying, waving his stick arms about and almost knocking the box of condoms off my hand. ‘What the bloody hell were you thinking, doing that at _my_ party?’

‘Technically, it’s Dumbledore’s party,’ Regulus Black pointed out. Must say this about Black’s younger brother: he had balls standing up to James like that. James was never much of a looker, but his early morning hung-over face had nothing on his bloody furious one. It was rather a scary sight. ‘Besides, it was just a bloody joke. He’ll be fine later. He just needs it out of his system.’ 

‘And you’re making Lupin here drive him back home?’ James went on, ignoring Regulus. ‘Are you out of your fucking mind? He can barely drive when he’s sober! And right now his breath stinks of tequila so badly he’d go up in flames if you light a fag in his mouth.’

I decided that I didn’t really want to kiss James after all. ‘Fuck off, Potter.’

Regulus raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘All right, all right. There were some complications in the plan. I didn’t expect Lupin would get this pissed--’

‘Complications?’ By now James’s shout had turned into a shriek. It was rather like watching one’s parents fight about who failed to make the reservations in the restaurant in front of the restaurant. I looked down at Black, who was sitting primly on the steps behind us, and envied him his peace of mind. He was high as the stars, but at least he only had the other stars to worry about. By this time I’d tuned James out, but his voice had wormed its way back in my ears like an irritating shit song on the radio. ‘--trying to play matchmaker. At this rate the only thing you’d be playing is your brother’s favourite song at his funeral.’

‘I want something classy at _my_ funeral,’ I said, deciding it’s time to make my voice heard in this argument. ‘Depeche Mode’s “Black Celebration”, maybe.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Lupin,’ said James.

‘Right. Nick Cave’s “All Tomorrow’s Parties” it is, then.’ I would have raised my hands as well, but I didn’t think it would go too well, seeing as how I still had Black’s car keys and a box of condoms in them. 

It might have been James’s preference for Nick Cave--even though he never fails to take the piss about my ‘gothic shit’; it wasn’t me hiding Echo and the Bunnymen records under my bed—or it might be he finally realised he was sounding more and more like his mum by the second. Whatever the reason, James finally took a deep breath and looked over where Black was sitting. ‘All right, Black?’

‘You should play “Careering” at my funeral. I think Regulus would like that,’ said Black. 

‘Aren’t you a cheery lot?’ Regulus said.

James ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual. ‘How much did you drink tonight, Regulus?’

‘Three pints of lager.’

In the end, it was decided that James would drive the brothers Black back to their flat, taking me along for the ride. Must’ve slept somewhere along the way and missed the important bits, because as soon as we reached the flat Regulus had James in a liplock, hands busying themselves with the fly of James’s trousers, and I was glad they ended up inside Regulus’s room before anyone got naked. Not that I haven’t seen James naked before, but seeing him naked while in action was something else entirely.

The bedroom door slammed shut behind them, cutting off James’s rather filthy moaning and leaving me stranded on the sofa with Sirius Black. 

‘They’d probably need that,’ said Black, pointing with his chin. 

I looked at the box of condoms that was still in my hand. ‘They could get it if they want it. I’m not barging in there to remind them to have safe sex.’

He laughed without making a sound, shoulders shaking, slender hand covering his mouth. ‘Regulus probably keeps a box in his room, anyway.’

‘I should go,’ I said, trying to get off the sofa without tripping and cracking my head open against the floor. Black’s flat was just as I had expected, so there weren’t any fancy carpets to cushion a drunken fall. Probably why Black didn’t do a lot of drinking in the first place.

Black made a questioning sound, although by that time I reckon he’s too out of it to string two words together, let alone a complete sentence.

‘I’ll just take a cab. I’ll be fine.’

It took a valiant effort and I required help from the walls four or five times, but after what seemed like hours I finally made it to the door of the flat. Took another couple of hours for me to figure out how to open it, and then Black was calling out:

‘I’m sorry about this mess, Mr Lupin.’

‘Hey, at least some of us got laid,’ I said. At least I was left the satisfaction of telling James I was right the moment he comes back to our flat. ‘Don’t worry about it, Mr Black.’

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Fifty Shades of Black 3/5  
> Characters/Pairings: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, James Potter/Regulus Black, Mundungus Fletcher  
> Rating: R  
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters is to JK Rowling and associates. Fifty Shades of Grey and all related characters is to EL James.  
> Summary: When Remus Lupin goes to interview young entrepreneur Sirius Black, he encounters a man who is beautiful, distant, and intimidating. The world-weary, foul-mouthed Remus is dismayed to realise he wants this man and, despite Black's enigmatic reserve, Remus finds he is desperate to get close to him.  
> Word count: 2,700~  
> Notes/Warnings: As you can see from the title and the summary, this is a parody of EL James's Fifty Shades of Grey. Please don't take it seriously. Rated for language. ~~Ratings will probably escalate with each new chapter.~~ R-rating finally justified next chapter. As soon as I finish with that one. 
> 
> 'Mumei' means anonymity. No such restaurant exists, as far as I know.

*

Another day, another exciting shift at Borgin and Burkes. Been staring at the screen of my laptop for hours now; fresh, blank page open on the word processor, waiting for the wordy rush of intelligence that was sadly not forthcoming. It hasn’t been forthcoming for a couple hours now, as the digital clock on the bottom of the screen kindly reminded me, and the cursor blinking like a read-out on a time bomb. With nary a customer to serve as an excuse for my inattention, I finally gave up and opened my internet browser to check on my mail. Uni-related stuff, e-newsletters from the bookshop I frequent, 50% off deals from Amazon, and a message from Sirius Black.

No subject line, the little teasing bastard.

\---

**From:** Sirius Black  
 **To:** Me  
 **Date:** 23 November 2012, 6.25 AM

I asked Mr Potter for your e-mail address. Please don’t get angry with him. I can be quite persistent, as well.

I’m very sorry about last Saturday and hope I can make it up to you at dinner tomorrow, 8PM?

\---

Perhaps now would be the best time to confess that I’ve so far managed to exist for twenty five years in this planet without having gone out on a serious actual date with anyone. And here I was, getting a message from multi-millionaire Sirius Black, the Ice Queen with No Genitals himself, asking me out for dinner. Which was what I’m going to tell James in defence of my reply:

\---

**From:** Me  
 **To:** Sirius Black  
 **Date:** 23 November 2012, 2.42 PM

‘It was I who stood there, swallowing, unable to utter a word, who finally began to weep like a child! Ugh, to this day I feel ashamed of that moment; I thought that I could never face you again. You had seen me so disgracefully weak.’?

\---

The speed of his reply surprised me--had he been waiting for it? Staring at his computer screen in between whatever it was heads of companies did in their offices and cups of tea? Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lupin. He’s just invited you to dinner as thanks for getting him and his brother home in one piece--well, one whole piece each with a side order of James Potter. It’s not a fucking marriage proposal.

\---

**From:** Sirius Black  
 **To:** Me  
 **Date:** 23 November 2012, 2.44 PM

I doubt a drunken night on spiked vodka is what he had in mind, but Hesse pretty much said it for me. Satisfied, Mr Lupin?

\---

He could have Googled the quote, besides which I wouldn’t drop my pants at the first person who understands my Hesse references--even if said person had the coldest grey eyes and the most kissable mouth. But I must admit that it was extremely flattering: that he could be arsed to try figure out what I’ve said. Or that he was willing to play along my literary non-humour.

Sirius Black was a fucking dangerous man.

\---

**From:** Me  
 **To:** Sirius Black  
 **Date:** 23 November 2012, 2.50 PM

Drinks and sashimi could very well be shortcuts to the long road of personal satisfaction.

\---

Too easy, Lupin. You might as well get down all fours and pantingly hump the man’s legs. I suddenly had the strongest urge to nip by the off-licence and get myself something stronger than tea to drink. Or smash my head against the edge of my desk. All with a silly smile on my face.

\---

**From:** Sirius Black  
 **To:** Me  
 **Date:** 23 November 2012, 2.53 PM

Good. I’ll meet you at Mumei’s tomorrow, then? Call me.

\---

Mobile phone number included in his email. I took a deep breath, peculiar feeling at the pit of my stomach: as if a hundred butterflies had set down to roost, all of them weighing the better part of a stone. As if I was eighteen again, talking in front of a crowd on Speech Day.

It was something to fantasise about; getting to know Black a bit more, maybe make him laugh even--and if I’m being honest to myself, which I try to be seeing as how I don’t have time for self-delusions, I have to admit that I definitely want to make him do something more than laugh. But now that the proverbial gates have opened, Black himself lowering the bridge so I could cross the frozen moat, so to speak, I could barely believe what was happening. 

Things like this didn’t happen to real people, did they? You could expect it from books with bright covers and cheeky titles. Some of those books might even feature mousy main characters who could name more dead writers than acquaintances. But they weren’t exactly real, were they? Beautiful millionaire asks graduate student out for a date, and the rest of the jigsaw pieces falling in together to make a rosy whole of a happy ending. 

Hold the fuck up, Lupin. This is _not_ a marriage proposal, remember? If this was a book, it could very well be the sort where two people meet and decide that they can’t really stand the sight of each other for more than a couple hours at a time. Never to meet again, for the sake of bad literature. 

The thought made me smile, not so much a silly smile this time, but an amused smile nonetheless. I might tell James about it later, to make him laugh. 

My phone began to ring: the sound of the Tardis landing, which is pretty embarrassing even for a Whovian. But it amused me to see some people’s heads turning, whenever I receive a phone call in a public place, the look of recognition (and sometimes judgement, not going to lie) on their faces when I pick my phone up and say ‘Yes?’.

‘Yes?’ I said, absently, still looking at my computer screen, as if Black’s email was in a code that I have yet to decipher. I added, thinking it was James, ‘I said I’d nip by the deli before going home, don’t nag.’

‘Remus?’ 

‘Black?’ I said, making the name sound like a curse in my surprise.

‘It’s been,’ he paused, and I wondered if he’d decided that the call was a bad idea after all but then he was speaking again, ‘ten minutes since I sent you a message. I’ve yet to receive a reply?’

It was stupid, but the way he stuck a question mark on that last sentence, his voice rising at the end, made me feel better.

‘I--’ I began, choking a bit on my own spit. ‘I didn’t think I needed to. Silence means yes?’

‘It’s usually thought good manners to end such a conversation with affirmation,’ he said, adding quickly, ‘If you meant to say yes, that is. Just so the other party is left with no doubt as to how matters have been settled.’

‘Do I need to sign documents, or something?’

He laughed. ‘Not yet. Is that a yes, then, Remus?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Mr Black?’

‘Yes?’

‘Get back to work. Some of us are quite busy, you know.’ 

He laughed again before saying good bye.

*

I got back to my flat in a bit of a panic.

‘Is the landlord outside?’ said James, rising from the sofa where he’d been playing World of Warcraft on his laptop. 

‘What should I wear for a date at a Japanese restaurant?’ I asked, handing him a paper bag with a couple of turkey sandwiches inside. 

James sank his skinny arse back on the sofa cushions, the tense set of his shoulders relaxing. ‘How the fuck would I know? A suit? You can hardly be expected to come in a yukata, can you?’

‘I don’t own a suit.’ James had taken the sandwiches out of the bag. ‘Save me the other one.’

‘There’s your tweed one,’ James suggested, making a face at me. 

‘What am I, Matt Smith?’ 

‘Last time I checked,’ said James, through a mouthful of wheat bread and turkey, ‘you had eyebrows. What sort of restaurant is it?’ And then, as he finally realised what I’d just said, ‘Someone asked you out?!’

‘The interrobang’s a bit of an overkill, don’t you think?’ I said, pushing at him so I could sit on the sofa as well. ‘Besides the Disbelieving Face, I mean.’

‘Fuck the interrobang,’ said James. ‘ _Who_ asked you out?’

I took a bite from my sandwich, chewing slowly just to irritate James. I don’t know how I looked like, but I know that the silly smile was back. 

‘Reeemuuuus!’

‘Seems like you’re not the only one who gets to pull a Black, after all,’ I said, before the neighbours started banging against the walls in retaliation. 

‘Sirius Black?’ said James, his eyes widening. And then narrowing as he brought his face closer to mine. ‘’Cause it better not be Regulus. I’d fucking kill the both of you.’

I raised my hands in mock surrender. ‘I don’t that to my friends. Or to people.’ I thought about it. ‘I wouldn’t do that to people; I’ve never actually had the chance to even consider it, actually. But I sure do like them single and available.’

James sat back on the sofa, laughing softly. ‘So the Ice Queen has a taste for dick, after all.’

‘That’s disgusting, Potter.’ I hit him smack on the face with a cushion. James swore, shouting something about getting mayonnaise on the covers. ‘It’s just a fucking dinner, is all. He wants to make amends about last week.’ 

‘So that’s why he asked for your email address.’ James grinned. ‘Still, that’s a prime piece of millionaire arse you’ve got yourself, Lupin.’

‘You’re one to talk.’

*

Borgin and Burkes closed early on Fridays, to give the owners (who rarely make appearances in the shop) and their lone employee more time for a wild pre-weekend night. I doubt the old men’s Friday nights were any more exciting than mine, but appearances must be kept, after all.

Anyway, it gave me some time to go back to the flat to change out of my usual jumper and cords ensemble, so I couldn’t complain. In the end I decided to forgo the tweed suit and instead wear my nicest shirt (the moss colour brings out the green in my eyes, James said, although I have a feeling he was taking the piss, because my eyes were the most alluring colour of mud), a brown cardigan, and the same tweed trousers I wore to interview Black. I didn’t have any decent shoes, so I wore my black Doc Martens and hoped for the best.

Mumei was a couple blocks from Knockturn Alley, not very far from my flat. My boots were used to abuse, so I decided to save up on cab fare and walk. Arrived with half an hour to spare and wondered if I had enough money for a drink while waiting for Black. 

‘Er, table reservation for Black?’ I asked the host, who was indeed wearing a kimono. The staff were all wearing traditional Japanese clothes, and they looked somewhat incongruous amidst the crowd of suits and dresses. Aside from the man standing behind the sushi bar, whose hands moved so fast they were almost a blur, and a group of businessmen in one corner of the room, no one in the place looked particularly Asian. Less people to horrify with my sad skills with chopsticks, at least. Why did I think sashimi was a good idea again?

‘Right here, sir,’ said the host, accompanying me to the table where Black was already seated.

‘I don’t like being late,’ he said, nodding at me.

‘Lucky that I’m half an hour early then,’ I said, sitting down. I was glad he didn’t rise from his seat when I got to our table, which might have been a polite thing to do but which would have made me feel like a fool. ‘Er, shall we order something, then?’

‘I’m starving.’ Black nodded again. ‘Mr Fletcher took a day off and I forgot to eat lunch.’

‘Sounds like someone desperately needs a nanny,’ I said, and then desperately wished I’ve kept my mouth shut. But Black was smiling, rush of breath that could have been a laugh, and why the fuck did he find me so funny anyway? Was it something about my face?

‘Fletcher is hardly Mary Poppins material,’ said Black. I tried not to think about Black’s secretary prancing about with an umbrella. There was an awkward pause while we both looked at the menu the waitress had given us. I was just about to make the proverbial comment on the weather when Black cleared his throat and said, ‘You look nice.’

Even my ears felt hot. My face was probably the same colour as salmon sashimi and I tried to get it under control before someone dips me in a bowl of soy sauce. ‘Er, thanks.’ Too many seconds have passed before I remembered, horrified, what I probably should have said, ‘So do you.’

As an adjective, ‘nice’ pretty much ranked up there with ‘pretty’ and ‘good’ in terms of hollowness. The words were empty, signifying nothing, aside from ‘not half-bad’. Not much by way of praise, but more than one could expect from the computer generated Ice Queen, I suppose. 

‘I’m sorry,’ said Black, looking to his right. There was a rather interesting sumi ink painting of a mountain hanging from the walls of that side, and I magnanimously allowed myself to think that it fascinated him instead of wondering if he was really refusing to meet my eyes. ‘I’m not very good at this, am I?’

‘Well,’ I said, briskly, ‘that makes the two of us. The okonomiyaki sounds great.’

It didn’t help much, but we both relaxed a bit after that. The implied question had been laid on the table, and I have given the implied answer. All that I needed was to know how far Black was willing to take it.

*

After more plates of various sashimi than I’ve thought two grown men can consume in one sitting--plus the okonomiyaki, a plate of shrimp tempura, and crab salad, not forgetting several bottles of Kirin beer--I sat back and rubbed at my stomach.

‘You really _were_ hungry,’ I said, grinning.

‘Protein rush.’ Black licked at his lips, a gesture that I tried very hard not to notice. ‘It’s been ages since I ate here. Regulus doesn’t fancy the thought of too much raw fish.’ 

‘He doesn’t know what he’s missing.’ 

Black had asked the waitress for the bill, and I made a half-hearted attempt to reach for it when she placed the small leather case on our table. A meal like this would mean I’d have to eat instant noodles for a week, but it didn’t seem fair to make Black pay for everything. Even if he’d been the one to ask me out for dinner in the first place.

Black made a soft growly sound from the back of his throat: a sound so unexpected, coming from him, that I let my hand drop inches from the bill and looked at him as if he’d taken a piece of eel from the sushi bar and slapped it against my face. 

‘I’ll take that,’ he said, his cheeks turning a faint pink. It was rather becoming. ‘This was my idea, after all.’

‘Sure,’ I said, and fuck if I wasn’t half-hard in my pants thinking of that soft little growl, imagining Black making that sound against my neck, biting at my shoulder. Abort, Lupin. Abort that fucking thought before you do something stupid.

The waitress bowed when Black handed her his credit card, and there was another awkward silence while we waited for her to come back. I was wondering if now was the time for the ever useful comment on the weather, but decided that thanking Black would be a better idea.

‘Thanks,’ I said. And then deliberately, ‘I had a nice time.’

He smiled, acknowledging the hit. I had forgotten that my hand was still on the table, fingers tapping on the surface, and neither of us needed to know Morse code to read that as a sign of nervousness. Black reached out with one hand, the tips of his fingers touching mine. He was cold to the touch, not clammy cold like a teenager on his first date, just cold. It was somehow comforting.

‘So did I,’ he said. ‘Do you--maybe, drinks in my flat?’

Oh, I thought. Oh, _my_.


End file.
